Redemption
by Hunter the Writer
Summary: "Only the dead get closure, the living don't." Benjamin Harris has been cutting a swath of murder and robbery for the last decade. Now its seems that even Death itself wants Harris to pay for sins. Cursed with an immortal body, never aging and alone with the cries of the innocents he has taken away... Harris has sought to never go back to his evil ways. Time can be cruel irony.
1. Chapter 1

_**Redemption**_

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**By 1899, the age of outlaws and gunslingers had come to an end. The tales and mysticism surrounding a once wild land glorified by manifest destiny were reaching their conclusion as America was becoming a land of laws. **

**As a result, the wild beast that was the West becoming tamed. **

**While a few gangs still roamed, their days were numbered as they were being hunted down and **_**destroyed**_**.**

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_Blackwater, Commonwealth of West Elizabeth, 1899._

_The age of civilization and industry is slowly shaping these here United States for better __**and **__for worse. I write this to remind myself that my own selfish greed and desires must always come first, as what's left of the "free country" is being purchased and sold by the rich and the powerful, who couldn't care less about the lands unless it involved money. _

_There was a time when I never cared about who got in the way. I've shot women and children alike. Sins that I'm still paying for to this day. I'm damned to live an eternal life of feeling the sorrow that hundreds have felt for the past ten years. _

_I live a drifter's life now, taking bounties and living off the land as best as I know how. Hunting has been most profitable and ironically… __**peaceful**__. Just me and my bow, accompanied only by my thoughts. However, I do have to say that I've gotten quite good at skinning game. _

_If only the Benjamin Elijah Harris who robbed, shot, and stole for a cause that was only for himself, would see that where he was looking through were metaphorical trees. Life isn't something to cling on so tightly when you can't die. _

_Only the dead get closure, the living don't._

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The whole town had been in an uproar over the ferry robbery that occurred just a few weeks ago. They had a reason to, after all, as the leader of the Van Der Linde gang, Dutch, shot a young woman on the boat they were robbing. The papers say the woman's name was Heidi McCourt. A pretty enough woman who was shot square in her head, with her eye hanging out by a tendon and her brains plastered over a wooden wall.

She ain't so pretty any more.

I's just got back into Blackwater after helping Ms. LeClerk find her husband's killers. The town's been quiet since then and she paid me handsomely for the trouble, enough money for me to leave and never look back.

Holding onto the reins of my **Artemis**, an Appaloosa breed of horse I once found in a stable next to a cabin, I softly patted her for another job well done. She let out a soft sigh before munching on the oatcake I handed to her as a reward.

"Hold there, girl," I told her as I pulled her towards a hitching post next to the general store.

She nickered like a young child but nonetheless remained content.

A couple minutes later, I returned from the store with some supplies and provisions for a hunting trip into the mountains. I heard tell that this time of year was perfect for some deer hunting, but a trapper told me to watch out for them wolves and bears too.

I rode for hours on-end until the sun rested beyond the horizon, which gave me the cue to settle down for camp in a small landing near the road. I let Artemis take a rest as we approached the Big Valley. I pitched my tent and snapped some flint to start a fire. Then, I sat down and started preparing some special arrows.

I had a preference of poison arrows to the others. Although, I did prepare some more refined arrows for the smaller critters, so that I didn't damage their pelts and keep it perfect for the fur trader to buy from me later.

In my travels, I've learned to expect the unexpected when it comes to exploring the frontier. You never know just what kind of being you'll encounter, be it animal or human, be it in the desert or the forest. For those types of encounters, I kept my trusty Litchfield Repeater on my saddle. It packs quite a kick when dealing with coyotes or bandits. For them bandits, I kept a box of express ammunition, to give them a swift end.

But my pride and joy are my twin custom-made Cattleman Revolvers. Both I spent a pretty penny on to be lengthened and rifled to perfection. I knew a gunsmith in and around West Elizabeth who was able to give it the finest nickel-plated finish this far south, as well as rosewood grips that I had him carve deer designs into. It was well worth the price. It's saved my life more than a handful of times in a pinch.

As the nighttime sky cascaded down, I laid down on my bedroll and rested my head just outside my tent so that I could stare back at the starry sky with an impassive look on my stubbled mug. I allowed one final thought to brush my mind as I drifted off into my dreams.

"When will a vagabond like me find redemption?"

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**Author's Note****:** Hey everyone! Hunter the Writer here saying that I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter! My apologies for how it is at the moment. I also wanted to thank **JaneValentine007.** You were the one who inspired me to write a RDR2 story and I humbly thank you for listening to my half-baked idea! :P Hopefully I'll be updating more frequently and with longer chapters! Thanks!

-**_ Hunter the Writer_**

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_This chapter has been revised and beta-read by__** Aferus**__._


	2. Chapter 2

_Grizzlies West, Ambarino, 1899._

_Just touched down into the snow-capped valleys of the Grizzlies. The freezing temperatures have made me long for greener pastures. It's made the hunt difficult. Can't anything worth a damn when the snow is hitting as hard as this. There's got to be some place in this god forsaken white hell that I can warm myself in, even a small shack would do. _

_Artemis is a tough and stubborn mare. It's getting rough for her to hold ground due to the thick snow and biting cold. I's only got a few rations of canned food left and with no game in sight it's clear that I'll have to keep trudging through until I find a warm homestead or shack to lay low until the blizzard decides to go away. _

_Snow's falling in the middle of goddamn May._

* * *

I held my rusty lantern in my left hand and used it to check on the time on my pocket watch.

"3:24 in the morning," I sighed to myself.

I pulled the reins on Artemis so that we could continue down the path, searching desperately for someplace dry to wait the snow storm out. I knew she needed some food too, but she couldn't, not in this blizzard at least.

She whinnied throughout the snow. I tried to keep her gentle as much as I could as we rode north, through snow covered trees and a shallow-looking lake.

An hour later, I finally came across what seemed to be someone's homestead. There was dim light through the windows and noises inside, which meant the owners must've still been home. Hoping that they'd take me kindly, I hopped off Arty and made my way through the front of the property.

As I got closer, I noticed a few other horses tethered to the side. I also noticed a barn nearby. With the noises coming from the house and the eerie look of the situation, I got weary.

I opened up my saddlebag and rifled around to grab my throwing knives, just in case things went south. I had grown a mind to be practical in situations like these. The art of throwing knives was a trade I picked up from an old mountain man named Hamish Sinclair, or something like that, a few years back. It's kept me silent through a few rough jobs.

I discarded my thoughts and cleared the mind. Couldn't be thinking at a time like this. I crouched down and started to scout around the property, seeing if there was anything amiss before I made my move. I started walking forward towards the home, hearing only the soft crunch of each footstep on the snow.

I took cover behind the wagon nearby and caught a whiff of something like rotten eggs mixed with spoiled meat. I turned my eyes sideways to see something covered in an olive drape. I removed it and quickly covered my mouth when I saw the rotting corpse of a man.

He couldn't have been a few years older than me. Somebody shot the poor bastard right in his head and left him out here.

At least being alive wasn't his problem no more.

I looked back to the house. I discerned the noise as being laughter of the drunken sort and music from a record player.

Suddenly, the front door to the home swung open and a gangly-looking man came walking about, acting all drunk and such. He was muttering something indistinct while lighting a cigarette, sounding Irish. He wore this green-colored scarf around his neck, a scarf I had seen before.

That scarf belonged to an Irish-American gang, the O'Driscoll Boys. They was led by Colm O'Driscoll. A cold hearted, murderin' son-of-a-bitch with no love for anybody, including those of his own gang. The fool goes through more members than the damned pox.

I snuck my way around the wagon, keepin' my hunting knife gripped tight in my right hand as I waited for that O'Driscoll boy to look away. He then fumbled with his cigarette as it oafishly fell from his mouth.

Stupid idiot.

He reached down to pick it up, which gave me the chance I needed. I quickly walked up behind him, tapped my left palm to his mouth, and glided the blade across his throat. He squirmed like a young buck, screamin' under his murmurs for his friends to help him, but I ended his misery with a stab to his back.

He slumped over onto the snow, coloring it red with his blood.

Figuring I had to make my entrance known, I reached into my satchel and pulled out a finely made cigar I had saved only for the best of situations. The tobacco hit me hard like a hammer to the anvil. Suddenly I didn't feel so cold no more.

I knocked on that wooden door. The music quickly stopped thereafter.

"Who is it? Vincent, quit pissin' around," one of them jeered.

The door opened wide as another of them O'Driscolls met with my soulless stare.

I whipped my wrist, throwing another knife, hitting that oaf right through his left eye. He dropped like a sack of potatoes while two more of his partners started firing off willy-nilly. They was too drunk to aim down right. They hadn't expected somebody to show up.

I took cover behind the doorway and withdrew my revolvers, firing into the house sporadically to try and graze them at least. One of them charged the entry way, running right through and grabbing me by my coat collar, only to shove me into the house.

My ass fell back flat onto the ground, but I shot that miserable bastard a couple times in the gut before he had a chance to swing at me with a blade.

His partner had taken cover behind another doorway in the house, shooting back at me once he saw his partner fall back dead.

I rolled over on the dry-rotted wooden floor and flipped the nearby dining table up, taking a defense against that drunken fool's bullet fire.

Once I heard the click that his gun had run out of ammunition, I quickly stood up out from the table and unloaded the rest of my rounds into him. He dropped dead before he had a chance to react or reload.

I took a deep breath, reloaded my guns, and took a look around the homestead, peeking over the corners to make sure no more of them boys were waiting around to shoot me. But, I found nothing.

There was some canned food on the counter top, which I figured was good for the taking and stuffed them into my satchel. I scrounged around for more provisions and took what I could carry. As I searched another area of the home, I came across a portrait.

It was a dusty picture of a married couple. I quickly figured that poor bastard outside was the husband. I feared for his pretty dirty-blond wife's life. I hoped these O'Driscolls hadn't violated her, or worse.

I turned the frame, seeing the writing scribbled on the back.

_**September 7, 1896**_

_**Jake & Sadie Adler**_

I put the portrait back on the shelf I found it on. I racked my brain to figure if I had seen her near her husband's body, but I didn't see anything. She must've still been alive, I figured.

I took a gander around the house some more. I found an old wooden ladder leading down to the cellar of the homestead. I climbed down the rungs and into the cold and dark room below. I took out my lantern and looked around, seeing something draped with a moth-eaten blanket in the corner.

I figured this was the woman. I cleared my throat before addressing her.

"Mrs. Adler? You're safe now. I killed them men upstairs."

I slowly peeled the blanket off of her.

She was dressed in a white nightgown, shivering in fear as fresh tears rolled down her soft face. She was frightened. Unsure of what was happening. She inched away from me after I had withdrawn the blanket.

I hadn't the faintest clue what to do at this point. During my outlaw years, I took plenty of husbands away from their wives. Likewise, I laid with plenty of wives away from their husbands. But now, here sat a widowed woman, frightened, right after her husband was killed by a gang of misfits that I was no better than a couple years back. I figured there was nothing better to do than to try and give her some reassurance.

I took a breath and extended my hand to try to help her up. She reluctantly did so. I helped her back up the stairs and back into the main room of the home.

She took a seat at her kitchen table and simply watched, crying as I dragged the bodies of her husband's killers outside. I had no time to give them a proper bury. I didn't really give a damn about that type of shit anyway.

I took that moment to stow Arty away in the barn to keep her warm.

After I was done, I walked back to her and pulled out my flask of the finest whiskey this far away from the likes of Jack Daniels. I reached into the cupboard and pulled out a glass. I dropped it in front of her and poured some of my whiskey into it.

"You need to drink something. This'll help calm you down some."

She grabbed the glass, still trembling from fear, and slowly drank it while I took a sip directly from the flask. I pulled out some crackers from the provisions I had stolen and offered her some. She nibbled on them a bit.

"Er, I'm sorry, ma'am. I ain't so good on the whole mournin' business, but I took care of them boys that shot your husband. I ain't a saint, but I don't mind killin' sinners."

She didn't say a word. Her face was still frozen with fear in her heart. She then broke into more tears and cried for a few more moments. I rolled my eyes a bit since I hadn't dealt with this before, but I figured I'd give her some peace.

When she was done, she looked at me.

"He was my husband. W-Why would they… they just shot him and… **laughed**!"

"Dumb fools lookin' for game," I answered, "It's a terrible life out here, Mrs. Adler."

"We ain't got much! I just… I don't understand."

"There's not much to understand. These boys have only been taught to kill and steal. Like a rabid dog, all you can do is put them down."

She remained silent, unsure of what to say next.

"They didn't touch you, did they?" I then asked.

She shook her head while another round of tears came bursting out.

"Good."

I leaned back in my chair and simply watched her grieve in peace. I had found my dry spot for to outlast the blizzard, but the poor woman lost her beloved.

Shit. Some hunting trip this had turned out to be.

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**Author's Note****:** Hey everyone, hope you enjoyed the chapter. A bit surprised it turned out longer than I thought lol. Just wanting to say thank you to all who have followed and favorited my little story thus far. Also again big thanks to **JaneValentine007** for drawing Benjamin, hope you especially enjoyed this chapter. See you all next time!

**_-Hunter the Writer_**

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_This chapter has been revised and beta-read by __**Aferus**__._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Grizzlies West, Ambarino, 1899.  
**_

_Goddamn O'Driscolls. I may be one wretched son-of-a-bitch, but Colm and his lot can show you just how evil the hearts of men can be. Lord only knows for how long they tormented this woman. _

_Mrs. Sadie Adler. I ain't quite sure how to understand her. I ain't ever been married or had a woman I loved. I shot most women and never looked back. Ain't I a damn hypocrite. _

_I guess everyone has a lapse in who they thought they were. But, right now, I've got to give this poor bastard a proper burial. Least that can be done._

It had been over an hour and the damn snow wasn't letting up. I carried Jake's sorry corpse over the field to bury him on his land. I caught a glimpse of Sadie peering through the window as I stuffed ol' Jake Adler's body into a pit and stuck a wooden cross next to it, with his name and final message etched on there, as requested by Mrs. Adler.

I bended my knee and bowed my head down at the grave. I took a deep sigh.

I said a small prayer and put my hat back on, returning to the homestead afterwards.

Sadie had changed into something more appropriate for outer wear. The woman was still crying while looking at the wedding photo of her and her deceased husband. When she saw me approach, she quickly wiped away her face and set the frame down.

"Don't stop yer grievin' on my account," I told her.

"I'm not, I'm just, I'm trying to come to grips with all this."

I sat down across from her and unholstered one of my revolvers and began cleaning the carbon off it with an oily rag that I kept in my pocket.

"You seem like a well-traveled man," she suddenly noted.

"Yeah? What gave it away?"

She returned to her silent gaze while I finished cleaning the gun and switched to my other one.

"What were you doing all the way out here?"

"Hmph," I grunted, "That's _my _business to worry about, Mrs. Adler."

"Sorry. It just seems like a godsend that you'd be out here when those men showed up."

"Maybe. Maybe it was all just dumb luck."

"Maybe so."

Without anything else to say to her, I departed her company to give her some time to grieve while I checked on Arty.

The horse whinnied from the cold, so I slowly stroked her mane and patted on her as she let out a soft nicker in response.

"You alright, girl, here ya go,"

I handed her a soft carrot, to which she munched on happily. A smile creaked on my face as I felt her a bit happier than she was before when we was approaching this property.

My smile quickly faded as I saw something out the corner of my eye.

The lights and sounds of horses and chatter came up closely. I rushed back into the house, scaring Sadie as she gasped from my sudden appearance. She nervously stood up.

"What the hell's going on?"

I quickly placed my hand over her mouth to keep her from speaking more. I gestured with a finger over my lips to remain silent and pointed outside as the unmistakable noise of approaching riders encroached upon the property.

She looked as though she had seen a ghost as I moved her back into the cellar until I ensured everything was safe.

_From a different perspective…_

Micah Bell's tip of a homestead down a ways from their camp at Colter had Dutch and Arthur following blindly in the forsaken blizzard. They had been on the run from Blackwater down south for a while now, some of their gang that wasn't freezing half-to-death were either already dead or captured. Davey Callander was the most recent victim of the unforgiving cold as they reached an old mining camp.

"Goddamn this snow right down to the bone!" Dutch frustratingly shouted, with his gruff and guttural voice.

He shivered while keeping hold of the reins of his trusted White Arabian steed, The Count, while Arthur Morgan, his most trusted right-hand man for almost twenty years now, rolled his eyes at the pair.

"You sure this 'bout this, Bell? What if it's a trap?"

Micah snorted with a raspy laugh at Arthur's hesitance.

"Look, cowpoke. I'm pretty sure they won't mind if we… ask them to bunk with them for the night. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?" he joked terribly.

The three made their way to the homestead just like Micah had pointed out. But, something wasn't quite right. Micah had reported that it was buzzing with noise and light, but now it was all quiet with dim lights inside. But, a new problem had arisen upon the three outlaws.

A leopard-spotted horse was tethered up near the home, which only meant one thing…

…it was time to make a house call.

**Beta Read and Revised by: Aferus**


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